4th August 2026 - Another not trip report

Spending a currently rare, wet day catching up with blog writing it's quickly become apparent that there's been a bit of a dearth of photos recently. While some might get away with a solely text based blog, wity and erudite writing being enough to hold the reader's attention, writing is not my forte and so I hope the odd pretty piccie makes up for this.

While I may get lucky (more often when I'm able to get my helmet off and move its lamp to the side), on the whole the pictures I take with my wife's Olympus Tough (TG-5?) and just helmet lamps often feel a little disappointing and recently I've stopped carrying it.

My (long suffering?) wife's (long suffering?) Olympus TG-5/6?

Does disapointment come from trying to take pictures in far from ideal conditions? I'm also not sure if I bothered to hold my helmet and its lamp out to the side

Away from spray and humidity though things are much better

Give the Olympus lots of light eg subject close up, or here by shooting where daylight still reaches and I'm pleased with the results

I'd certainly not dream of taking out a non waterproof camera here

Of course though I'm able to take pictures extremely quickly, just pull the camera out of my chest pocket and in places I wouldn't dream of exposing a non waterproof camera. Fitting in a chest pocket also means my hands are free for dragging tackle sacks around. While I know It's far from fair to expect sharp, well lit images in many of these places where spray and high humidity abound, sifting through lots of hazy and grainy images for the odd 'keeper' can be a bit soul destroying. 

At the other end of the spectrum is the kit that I take only on 'photo trips'. I still like to think this is fairly compact: a mirrorless camera, flash controller and 3 flashes all in one Peli (1300) case, but it can still feel like a major inconvenience, especially on top of tackle sacks filled with rope. It's not just the physical bulk of the gear that has an impact on trips though. Setting up a shot with just 2 flashes, let alone 3 can feel like time is moving at a geological pace with friends feeling like they're entering a new ice age. Spending the time though, I'm often pleased with the results.

My much loved Canon RP

The case I carry it in. Not entirely a fair comparison as this Peli case will also hold 3 flashes and their controller

Some of my favourite pictures have been taken with a 2 flash set up

For a 3 flash setup your models have to be very understanding

Even just with a helmet lamp I'm pleased with results from the RP though of course these are 'ideal' conditions, no spray or humidity

So, is there a compromise solution? Even with just helmet lighting mirrorless cameras can produce much nicer results than those from a compact, so what about trying leaving the flashes at home and just taking a small mirrorless camera? When I upgraded to my Canon RP I tried to part exchange my trusty old Canon EOS-M. While it's definitely not all about the gear, the purchase of this camera resulted in a huge increase in image quality from the compact camera I'd used previously. 

With my EOS-M I felt like I was taking 'proper' photos for the first time (3 flash setup)

The camera shop 'expert' though said it wasn't worth anything as it looked like it'd been dragged through mud. What did they know!? My plan then is to try taking this camera as my 'default' camera on trips in the hope its case is still something I'm happy to take on longer trips or those when also burdened with lots of tackle.

My trusty EOS-M

My very smart new Inglesport case

Not a completely fair comparison, the Peli case on the left also holding 3 flash guns

Of course for wet and grim trips it'll be the Olympus everytime but I'm hoping that my new, light weight setup will see me taking a camera along on trips more often. As someone once said, "The best camera is the one you have with you."

2nd August 2026 - Through trip

Putting a date in the diary weeks in advance for a trip in August that requires dry settled weather is often a futile act but, as the day approached, the dry weather held and a return to Dowbergill passage was on. Looking in my copy of NFTFH I found that ever since my first traverse in 2022 with Mike, I've returned every couple of years. Once you've sampled its delights it will definitely keep drawing you back. For Julie though this was to be her first acquaintance.

Turning off the Skipton road and heading up into the Dales the scenery just gets better and better and I'm always amazed that there aren't more collisions as drivers are distracted by the awesome overhang of Kilnsey crag. While the continuing valley may be less vertigious, it's no less impressive and the village of Kettlewell is surely the archetypal Dales village.

Parking a little way up the Park Rash to make the return walk a little shorter we wandered into town and then back out, past the busy campsite and into the quiet valley leading up to Providence. The bracken was high and I felt like a lead rider on a Tour climb as I pushed my way through it. It also seems to have its own microclimate, holding heat under its canopy, already with wet and over suits pulled down to my waist there was little to do except enjoy the brief respite of vegetation free sections of path.

Pausing at the heavily lided entrance to dry off briefly 

[In progress...]

1st August 2026 - A morning's adventure

Needing a morning's adventure for eldest and his friend, a return to Middle Scar seemed to fit the bill. Donning wetsuits we were glad it was just a short walk from the van to the entrance, the relentless Yorkshire sun beating down as it has for weeks now. The extended dry spell even ensuring that you can leave the Ribblehead road and not immediately sink at least knee deep in bog.

With buoyancy aids on we negotiated the first couple of metres of dry passage and then slipped into the cool dark waters of the canal, the fixed lines allowing us to keep our upper bodies mainly out of the water and letting us pull our way swiftly through the deepest section.

This aqueous obstacle overcome the boys took the lead and we regrouped at the bottom of the short pitch up the waterfall. Despite the warming effects of the more rapid movement to this point, the boys had opted to keep their buoyancy on, the thick foam providing welcome insulation. It's worth noting that even after weeks of warm weather the deep, slow moving water remains stubbornly cold. As swiftly as I could I gained the top of the pitch and lowered a ladder and life line. I'd been wondering why the tackle sack was so heavy but then remembered I'd brought my Petzl Rig rather than my usual Stop. While it's undoubtedly a great device for belaying others, I do question that they've seemingly constructed it from osmium, not the best choice in terms of either price or mass.

Before the boys set off again I briefed them on the delicacy of the upcoming chert formations and how they needed to be treated like the jelly fish that they'd once been. I'd love to have a friendly geologist on hand to explain how these 'walls' had formed in such a multitude of directions.

The 'final' waterfall chamber reached we quickly about turned, needing to keep moving. Only the pitch caused a brief hiatus in our outward journey and we were soon back in the water by the entrance. I thought the shrieks from the boys were due to the temperature, but no, they were due to a drowned shrew bobbing by at face height. My shrieks though were due to the cold as I realised too late that I hadn't zipped up my wetsuit.

Emerging at lunchtime and with the modal age of the group being considerably lower than usual, Seasons bakery in Ingleton provided a more than adequate substitute to The Barn for apres cave activities. When asked whether they wanted to sit in the shade or sun to devour our sausage rolls the response was both instantaneous and unanimous.

25th July - CPC Penyghent Pot

 AJ, Mick, Simon, Jay, Adie, Patrick and Mike

After a fabulous AJ organised trip through King Pot with the Craven, I was keen to join another of his trips. The fact that it was to Penyghent pot made it even more unmissable. I've only visited once before, but it had been a fantastic trip and I was looking forward to another trip with both a reduced share of tackle and a potential visit to one of the extensions.

It's been dry for weeks now but there was definitely moisture in the air and rain forecast as I drove to pick up Mike. Excellent brownie courtesy of Sam, a quick cuppa, a brief chat with Mike's aunt and we were off again on the way to the club cottage in Horton. The club's carpark was busy with both vehicles and bodies beginning to sort tackle but a short shuffle worthy of a top level Tetris player soon had all parties accomodated and all hands on the bagging of the ropes. Mick, Simon, Jay and AJ I'd met on the previous King pot trip and I was introduced to Patrick and Adie, the club's tackle master. Along with rope we were going to rig/derig pitches with, there were also a number of 'decomissioned' ropes that were going to be used to replace the handlines that aid progress in the rift.

Walking up to the pot we experienced a sensation that has become somewhat unusual of late, rain. We felt sorry for the people heading up Penyghent, any other day in the last 6 weeks they'd have had clear views. Today though the clag was properly down. While the initial plan had been for a potential visit to the Friday the thirteenth extensions we were glad that we'd revised our plans to aiming solely for the sump. I for one would prefer no rain forecast before heading into the likes of Psycho crawl.

While the ramblers made their way up into the clouds, we cut off left at right angles to the main path, following a vague trod. Arriving at an area of shallow shakeholes our party spread out until the scaffolded entrance was located and the group once again coalesced. Watching a group of cavers kit up it soon becomes apparent that there are often many solutions to a problem. While everyone sported a harness, descender and jammers, the type and arrangement were almost as numerous as the number of people.

[In progress...]

23rd July 2026 - Roadside Ribblehead

With Mike up in Glen Coe and limited time on my hands before the arrival of visiting relatives, a short but interesting trip was required. The CNCC guide describes Middle Scar as "A quirky Ribblehead gem, involving swimming, a challenging climb and a memorable summertime adventure." Perfect, just what Tony and I needed!

You know it's going to be an adventure when you have to add a buoyancy aid to your kit list, though I definitely felt a little out of place amongst the hoards of t-shirt and short clad viaduct spotters wearing a full wetsuit in the baking sun. Fortunately it was only a hundred or so metres to the cave entrance in a shake hole deep enough to hide our niche activity from view. A barn owl was using the solitude of the depression for a mid morning snack and while it was probably annoyed by being interrupted, we were awed by its flight. We removed the sheep repelling grille from the entrance and within a few metres we needed both our neoprene and buoyancy, the water both deep and cold.

With buoyancy on the first few out of depth metres of canal are superb. You can just float and haul yourself along on the currently in situ ropes, taking a moment to observe the dive line emerging from the depths and the wet(ter) entrance. The ropes end at the point you can wade and with the exception of the occasional collision with a submerged rock rib or two, it's superb caving. Dry land brings a return to the more usual caving found in these parts before arrival at a waterfall that bars the way on.

Two ropes hung down, one either side of enthusiastic trickle that the fall had been reduced to by weeks of dry weather. Despite having rather cool flecks of reflective material in its sheath the rope on the right looked quite ropey in the other sense of the word, so we opted for that on the left. While initially I was puzzled by the description of the climb as 'holdless', the issue soon became apparent. There look like there are holds but any attempt to use them in anger would probably result in them crumbling away.

Over the dam at the top of the fall a closer inspection could be made of the ropes and their anchors. I felt we had chosen wisely. While the rope we'd used was belayed to a number of sound looking bolts by 'traditional' rigging, that on the left was threaded through a couple of more dubious looking bolts and secured by stopper knots to prevent it pulling through the hangers. As it was also worn through to the core in a number of places we removed it and left it to pick up on our way back. 

Further classic caving brings you to the only junction in the cave. The way straight on, Mudlark, we read lives up to its name and we didn't feel it necessary to fact check the description. Left, up an inlet, leads to the more enticing Rising Mirth and what is now one of my favourite pieces of passage anywhere. It's not particularly remarkable apart from a series of incredible chert bands. Prior to this I think all the chert bands I've seen lie, like the limestone beddings they're sandwiched by, in the horizontal plane. These lie in the vertical plane and intersect the passage at a range of angles, sometimes even at 90 degrees to each other. The result is a series of walls or dams that look like the Hulk has smashed through, their integrity in places looking like it would be similar to a stud wall.

A remarkable assault course therefore ensues as you try to thread yourself through them, channeling your time spent as a youth playing Operation. I've never seen anything like them anywhere else and, after a recent visit to New Goyden as well, I think chert has now made it into my top three when it comes to types of rock. My favourite walls being where calcite had grown over the chert leaving glistening white walls instead of black. Sorry Mike when we take you to visit I'm going to be taking my big camera box!

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end and our passage 'finished' at another 5 m high waterfall in Parba pot. While the survey (it's fantastic that the CNCC descriptions now have links to the cavemaps site that they now host with all its online surveys) shows that the passage continues above the fall, we're told it's similar in nature to Mudlark and would also require further climbing aid. While turning around is normally associated with merely having to cover previously trodden ground, I was excited to have another opportunity to experience its amazing geology.

Despite our spending a couple of hours exploring, mainly in the water, we hadn't made much of an impact on its temperature and the final canal still felt cold. The excellent little homemade ladder allowed easy egress from the flooded section and back up into the beautifully engineered entrance. As soon as we climbed the metre or so out of the depression the car was immediately visible and we were there in a matter of minutes.

This is an absolutely stunning trip for small groups of careful cavers and it feels surreal that sucn adventure can be had so close to the crowds at Ribblehead. The only down side being trying to time the more revealing parts of your change with the few moments when there aren't people taking photos of the viaduct.

9th July 2026 - A pause for reflection

Spoiler: If you want a trip report look elsewhere, think only my lower half was underground for about 30 seconds. If though you're after some ramblings on why I only managed a 30 second trip, read on...

A teacher's timetable can have a big effect on how the year as a whole goes and I've learnt that, if occasionally it goes your way, you need to make the very most of it. Every second week on a Thursday there's been a chance that I can get away early and, with it being my last week in school this year, I wanted to make it count. 

The weather has remained remarkably dry so, coupled with the early start, we had the opportunity to keep the momentum going with East Kingsdale trips. Therefore, I suggested Growling to Mike. As ever he was more than up for any outing and so, under blue skies, we headed for Kingsdale. 

With the potential for a late return and to prevent disturbing the farm, weve taken to parking up by Yordas, the approach only being slightly longer. Today though the parking was full and Yordas itself was bustling with activity. Recognising a friend's car I went to chat while Mike parked the car further back down the valley. Sonja was there as her son was filming in the cave (see here) and she hoped to catch up with him at the end of the day.

It was a sweat soaked trudge up the valley side despite the fact that most of our cave clothing was in bags rather than worn and it was with some relief that we dumped the bags in the rough area of the pot while we looked for the entrance. There are a lot of shake holes in the shallow, dry valley leading up from the pile of stones that acts as a useful navigational aid but it wasn't long before we found the one thag we wanted.

Adding extra layers, gloves and a helmet the atmosphere began to feel even closer and I began to get frustrated as I tried to squeeze my harness into an already bulging tackle sack. Mike had swiftly rigged a handline for the entrance climb and had already disappeared from the foot of the climb as I first lowered my SRT kit leaking tackle sack and then myself into the gap in the limestone.

At this point my brain usually goes quiet. This is why I cave. There is a lot that I find frustrating in life, ranging from people who think it's fine to mix different pasta shapes to right wing nut jobs touting their illogical and vile twaddle and I admit that it gets to me. Drinking is one way of calming my racing mind but obviously this isn't a sustainable solution for numerous reasons. A weekly caving trip, with the finest mates you could wish for, therefore serves as my healthy therapy. The physical challenge of moving through passage, or the mental problem solving of rigging allow a fast track to a flow state in which I'm only focussed on the present. This normally sets in the moment the cool air of the cave us met, or on clipping the first carabiner. Today though my mind kept racing.

Was it overheating on the way up? Coming to the end of a busy term but with school trips still ahead? The fact that youngest had just fallen off his bike and, while he'd escaped with a bit of road rash, I still needed to sort his bike before going away? Or even something as petty as knowing my harness would keep trying to escape from my sack and require constant restuffing as I made my way along the crawl below me? An amalgamation of all of the above?

Fortunately Mike was still in ear shot of my muted, "I can't do this." "Can't do the move, or feel you shouldn't be here", he sagely asked. It was definitely the latter, my whole body almost physically revulsed by the act of entering the cave.

As previously mentioned, it's not just the caving that acts as my therapy, but that it's done with amazing friends. Friends who're there for you both when things are going well or, as today, not so well. 

With minimal kerfuffle we were soon having a pleasant wander further up the valley identifying other entrances before the slightly less stifling descent back down to the car and the inevitable pint in The Barn. Growling will hopefully still be there for me on another day...

1st July 2026 - I can see clearly now

Since our previous visit to Spectacle at the end of May, work has put paid to a few potential trips and this week too was going to be a non starter. I have fantastic colleagues though and Mr Hamilton exceptionally kindly agreed to running a parents' evening by himself allowing a trip in a brief weather window.

Caving on a Wednesday as opposed to a Thursday meant there were different folk around and we had the pleasure of bumping into one of the Thunder pot diggers as we set off from the lay by. Just before Heron we heard a muffled bleating sound and peering down a small hole we could just make out the nose of a sheep who, living in an area famed for it, had decided to try its hoof at pot holing. Fortunately she had the attribute of being a team player and allowed a straightforward capture and hoick back to the surface. Undettered by her initial experience, she seemed keen for more and followed us towards Spectacle before being distracted by a patch of grass.

A month of warm and fairly well watered weather seemed to have resulted in a huge expansion of the tussocks and the crossing of the moor from Heron seemed much harder work than previously, an exchange of waves with the diggers at their tripod giving but brief respite.

Our previous recce allowed us to find the entrance much more easily than before and we were soon down the first pitch and the ensuing free climbs. At Splutter crawl there were distinct pools of water, rather than the continuous canal of our earlier visit, so I assumed my best Superman pose and inserted my body. I'm still not quite sure about where my source of forward propulsion came from but I was concious of trying to use my toes to udge me forward inch by inch. A couple of metres in, the cave seemed to give me a welcoming hug and there were a couple of opportunities to cool my face in well placed puddles before a narrow slot in the floor signalled an expansion of the passage. The fun though continued with a head first descent of 2 metres of ladder which I'm glad Mike wasn't able to witness.

Pulling the rope I'd been towing the tackle sacks emerged through the crawl, shortly followed by Mike. The second pitch was close at hand and, though described as 'narrow and awkward', after Splutter crawl, seemed fine.

The next obstacle was the Wet Crawl. While 'wet' is a perfectly adequate adjective to describe the crawl, low, loose and quite long could also be used without arguement. As ever in these situations, Winston Churchill's paraphrased words about a tackle sack being a good way to ruin an enjoyable cave, came to mind. The bow wave of displaced gravel in front of the pushed sack was frustrating, but when an enthusiastic push broke a thin flake of rock from the side of the crawl and loose rubble poured in, I was genuinely frightened. Fortunately as the stones knitted together the flow stopped and I was able to carefully clear a way forward, the end of the crawl lying just a few metres ahead.

Once more in relatively expansive surroundings we redonned our SRT kit and scrambled over a boulder or two to the impressive Dodd's pitch. I struggle to find rebelay bolts, even with my lamp on full beam and so resorted to the natural described in NFTFH which was more than adequate to give a free hang. Just below the bottom of the pitch, the lower of twin eyeholes (the source of the pot's name?) gave access to the penultimate and increasingly loose pitch. Where this ends is a matter of opinion as the angle of the pile of choss gradually relents. 

A further scrambling descent of the Great Rubble Heap leads to the final pitch. It's worth noting that there is now a resin bolt here, so no hanger required, as well as a forlorn plank of wood that seems to do a surprisingly good job of preventing the pitch filling with scree. A few metres down the sum of the obstacles we'd overcome to get here, coupled with a narrowing of the pitch and further tottering choss got the better of me. This was going to be another bit of passage that we'd reluctantly leave for when Tony could join us. Mike seemed happy with this arrangement and we began our swim up the slope to the bottom of our ropes.

Fortunately the Wet Crawl seemed shorter on the return and we soon seemed to be at the ladder contemplating how we were going to get our tackle sacks back through, the slot at the crawls entrance denying an easy pull through. Depositing the bags into this slot, I crawled over them, once again towing a rope behind. Mike then udged up into the crawl, tied on each bag and manoeuvred them into position for me to pull through. I doubt that this was as easy to do as he made it seem, but they were both soon on their drag through the crawl.

Normally it takes a couple of days before I start to ache after a trip but putting my SRT kit back on, I could feel it in my shoulders straight away. It was with quite a bit of relief that I pulled out onto the moor, the not insignificant rain slightly worrying as we hadn't expected it for a further hour or so. Even the short climb back up to the car caused leg muscles to remind me they'd been working hard and removing my wet t-shirt proved to be quite a struggle with shoulders now calling time.

As we drove back towards Kirkby the rain fell ever harder and it was a desolate town centre we found on arrival. The Barn was shut tight, the Snooty Fox likewise, so through deepening puddles we tried Avanti, no joy, before finally a welcome in the Red Dragon. Joined by Uncle Dan we more than doubled the clientel and the Scots barmaid seemed more than happy to close up around us while we drank. It has to be said that no-one would ever confuse any one of the three of us with a professional basketball player so it made Dan's evening when he was asked if he could help reach some napkins from a high shelf.

As the barmaid contemplated the flooding cellar, I was wishing for the immense shoulders of the referree in charge of the football game on the TV and knowing that the satisfaction of this trip would last considerably longer than the aches and pains.